She Will Be Loved
by Blaze Eos 0204
Summary: He is the stranger who becomes her unexpected savior. She is someone he has only fantasized about from afar. Is there a chance for love to blossom in her broken and his jaded heart? My entry for Straight Thru the Heart Fanfiction Contest.
**This was my entry for STRAIGHT THRU THE HEART fanfic Contest. Enjoy.**

* * *

I wish I could fuck her.

No, not fuck. Maybe make love to her?

But I don't know how to make love. Fucking is the only thing I've ever done.

Sometimes I wonder what the difference between fucking and making love is. Women say it has a lot to do with feelings. As if fucking doesn't involve feelings. Let me tell you, fucking someone involves as many feelings as making love implies. Fucking is gritty, earthy, and passionate, a way of expressing your admiration for the magnificence of your partner's pussy. It's a way to pay homage to the heat that grips your cock, to the silken fit that wrings you like a velvet-gloved fist, to the release that brings you a step closer to the heaven you've only heard about. I don't know about other people, but that's what fucking entails for me.

But when I see her, I don't just want to fuck her. I want to consume her, ravish her, plunge so deep in her that my every thrust brings me closer to who she is. I want to sneak into her thoughts, into her dreams, into her very soul.

Is this obsession?

If it is, I don't care. If she were someone else, I would already know every breath she took to moan my name, every spasm of her cunt that brought me closer to that heavenly release. But she is someone who is even far beyond who and what Edward Cullen is.

Edward Cullen? Well, that's me.

Spoiled rich brat extraordinaire.

My dad did only one good thing in his life apart from begetting me, and that was creating this multi-billion-dollar empire just for me. Well, it's a very far shot saying that Daddy dearest did it for me, but it will eventually fall into my lap, won't it?

Here in the privacy of my room, from where I can see Seattle's skyline, life seems so mundane and monotonous. The blonde in my bed is still sleeping, giving me time for this self-evaluation. Pity her hair isn't brunette, her skin isn't alabaster, and her eyes aren't warm brown.

She stirs, this blonde Amazon with a foreign accent and limber body. Her hands snake around my torso from behind, and she presses her naked breasts to my back.

Her hands slowly descend from my chest to my abdomen while she peppers my back with small open-mouthed bites. Her hands don't stop there; they make their way to my cock, where she lightly caresses my growing arousal.

"Von't you play, Edvard?" I can hear the pout in her voice.

Tanya Denali is a world-renowned socialite, too adept at using her daddy's hard earned money just like me, and she is on my menu for this week.

I turn to find her golden body spread wide for my benefit, hands beckoning me forward to play. Am I in a mood to play? Yes but not quietly.

I hitch her legs over my shoulders, and she moans as if I've buried my face in her cunt. A little overboard, don't you think?

My hands are whisper soft on her thighs, my face impassive at the onslaught of her so-called passion. I lean in to smell her, my nose barely touching her pussy lips. I find her bare and wanting. Do I want to eat her out? Nope.

I crawl over her. She has that come-hither look in her eyes. Reaching my hand down to wreak havoc on her pussy, I wrap my lips around one nipple. I push one finger inside her to find her wet and ready. I really am in a need of instant gratification.

"Give eet to me, Edvard," she moans.

I flip her on the bed. She lifts her ass in the air. Oh, she wants it bad.

Mounting her from behind, I push inside her hot cunt. God, she swallows me like a popsicle.

I set a punishing pace, pounding into her while nibbling on her jugular. My hands are busy in shaping her body, leaving whispered caresses and tickling touches on her erogenous zones.

Her walls tighten around me, strangling my dick. God, it feels great. In a moment, she comes with a loud porn-star-worthy shout. I follow her in the land of orgasmic bliss as her cunt milks every drop of semen from my cock.

This is fucking at its finest. This is Nirvana.

* * *

Dad makes a point to drag me into these über boring parties that specialize in catering boredom for the rich and influential. It's all about the recent deals, designer gowns, pricey jewelry, and the free champagne. I could have been dancing with some hot babe in some club if not for my father.

He thinks I'm irresponsible. I work too hard to maintain his belief.

I smile for a few cougars. Their eyes are trained on my crotch. I feel so violated, but I guess it comes with the territory of being born good-looking. Sorry, ladies. I don't go for the flavor you're offering.

My dad's casual 'Edward' steers me toward where Carlisle Cullen stands with his business associates, sipping overpriced champagne. One, in particular, catches my eye.

Jacob Black.

He is a douchebag. He might have been a hunk once, but now all he looks like is a faded frat boy has-been. His shirt is strained over his bulging stomach, his face is a failed surface of plastic surgery experiments, and his beefy arm is wrapped like a python around her: the woman who has the warmest brown eyes I've ever seen, the woman who's capable of making me a stuttering idiot with a simple smile, the woman who is my unattainable obsession.

Isabella Swan Black.

I don't know what this beauty saw in the fifty-year-old beast that made her want to marry him. She is so innocent, like an angel of heaven, whereas I wouldn't even insult serpents by calling her husband one.

Her eyes are always downcast in the presence of others. All she does is smile. Not a word crosses her lips at events like these.

I have never heard her voice.

Jacob is leering at a passing blonde, who looks to have more silicon in her body than Silicon Valley.

Who would have eyes for someone else after they have seen a beauty like Isabella?

I agree with my father on whatever business jargon he's speaking while my eyes sneak covert glances. After a moment, when Jacob realizes that my dad isn't paying him the attention he deserves, he steers Isabella in the opposite direction.

She never even for once leaves his side.

Why doesn't she leave him?

* * *

An hour later, I find myself on the terrace, craving the fresh air. I am a creature of all bad habits and questionable morals, but even I can't abide these parties.

The people who come to these things to rub elbows with the rich wear a lot of layers of who they aren't. They pretend, they lie, and they hide.

Except for her.

Her face is an open book. She is innocence in the flesh, goodness in heart, and kindness in deeds.

My attention wanders to a couple in the dark alcove just beyond the reach of soft lights in this open place. If they were your usual 'I want a moment with my partner' kind of couples, I wouldn't have paid them any heed. Except they are quarreling, and the voice that reaches my ears is that of Jacob Black.

"I told you to flash a smile or two and charm that bastard, Cullen Sr. It would be a lot easier for me if you seduced that motherfucker," he snarls.

I should leave it alone; I should get out of here. But she whimpers, and my feet follow the sound of their own violation.

"Jacob, please," she begs.

I wonder how many times she has uttered the same words while this bastard hurt her.

"Please, what, you bitch? Your money is not going to last forever. Do you want me to run to Daddy dearest again?" He's fucking gloating. What hold has he over her?

"No." The panic in her voice is palpable.

"Then get to work. Spread those thighs; work that cunt for me," he says.

And I lose it.

Before I realize it, I've punched him and hoisted him up by his collar. His face is turning red. Good. It will be more fun to thrash this bastard while he seethes.

"What the fuck, Cullen?" he growls.

I don't know how I've stopped myself from beating this sorry, no good, pathetic worm to a pulp.

"Leave him. Please leave him," she pleads softly.

Why is she begging for this fucktard? Why isn't she happy that I've come like a white knight to her rescue?

Doesn't she want to be rescued?

Jacob Black smirks as if he's got everything planned out. How he underestimates me. I am not my father. I have never been the man my father is, and I'm glad for that fact in this moment. My dad would have walked away. He would have deemed this Black's personal matter. He would've ignored the fear shining in Bella's eyes, the inherent relief on her face when I pulled her husband away from her.

I can't walk away.

I drag him away from Bella to the far side of the terrace, gripping his neck, only to shove half his body over the fancy iron railing. It would be a spectacular fall down the eight stories.

"What are you doing? Please leave my husband alone." Bella is crying.

I want to turn toward her and say, "Oh Bella! Don't you see? I'm doing this for you. He hurt you; he made you cry. How can I leave him be, after the way he treated you?" But I don't.

Jacob Black's words are ringing in my head. This man would sell her when the time came. How can she still care for this monster?

"Stay away from her." My voice is genial, and yet I'm feeling anything but amiable.

"She is my wife." A girly scream leaves his throat.

"Leave her, or I drop you, Black."

I don't know what has come over me. I'm acting like a damn caveman.

"Who are you? You have no right to talk to my husband like that." Her voice is laced with determination. I turn toward her, and a tear-stained but stubborn face greets me. She may pretend to be outraged on this dog's behalf, but I see the relief in the distant corners of her eyes.

Why does she stay with him?

"My arms are tiring, Black," I say as I loosen my hold on him a bit. He shrieks. Figured he would be one of those high-pitched kinda guys.

"I will leave her," he hurries, his tongue tripping over the words.

I pull him up after a moment. He rubs his neck, where marks from my fingers mar his dark skin. Oh, the satisfaction I get when he flinches. It's enormous.

She moves toward him to soothe his hurt ego. He pushes her away.

"Stay away from me, you bitch. Spread your thighs for Cullen Junior, did you?"

He better keep the lid on his filthy trap, or else even God doesn't know what I'm going to do to him.

She shakes her head. "Jacob, I don't know this man." Her voice quivers.

It hurts. It fucking hurts when the woman for whom you would walk to the gates of hell says she doesn't know you from Adam. I plan to rectify that soon. In fact, this bastard has given me the perfect opening for it.

She looks at me, silently urging me to deny Jacob's allegation. What I'm about to do is wrong, but I'm not sorry. And I'll make it up to her a thousand fold if she'll let me.

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite so crudely, but yes, we are... acquainted." A lethal smile crosses my lips as I look at him. I know the moment he assumes too much, courtesy of his inferior brain. He scowls in my direction.

"You are welcome to keep the frigid bitch."

He walks away, but not before adding the snide comment that leaches color from Bella's face.

"Your father is going to hear from me, bitch. And expect the divorce papers in earnest."

She stands frozen.

Is the prospect of getting rid of that motherfucker so bad?

I move toward her, wary of her reaction. I know what I've done will have huge repercussions, but I couldn't let her return to the man who treats her far worse than I treat my weekly fuck buddies.

"Bella?"

She doesn't respond. I touch her shoulder gently, only to find her huge Bambi eyes on me. The desperation in them guts me.

"Where will I go now?" Her voice is hollow, almost haunting.

"Come with me, sweetheart." I take her hand and walk toward the back stairs. I have waited so long to talk to her, to touch her, and yet in this moment, nothing matters except her well-being.

She is an automaton.

Her fingers cling fiercely, desperately to mine. I have to gently pry her hands open when I make her sit in my car. Her eyes follow me as I round the car to get in the driver's seat. The ride to my apartment is filled with the silence of too-loud thoughts leaving an echo between us.

* * *

She is as scared as deer in headlights when I make her sit on the couch in my living room, one that faces an entire wall made of glass. You can thank my vanity for that.

I pass her a tumbler of scotch and urge her to drink.

What should I do? I'm pretty useless right now, standing like a creeper and watching her intently. I may not get this moment again, so I want to look my fill.

She raises her head after she's finished the scotch, the color faintly back on her pale cheeks. Her eyes are pools of surprise, and I find myself drowning in them.

"You shouldn't have done that."

"Shouldn't have saved you from that asshole, you mean?" Doesn't she understand? I did it for her. No woman should be treated like he was treating Bella.

"You shouldn't have insinuated something neither you nor I are a part of."

"It was a perfectly innocent statement. I can't be blamed for that motherfucking bastard's screwed up sense of understanding." I scowl. "Pardon me for being straightforward, but you look like an educated woman. Why would you voluntarily accept the way he was behaving?" I am genuinely curious. Has my Bella no spine? Is she timid, a shy creature who can't face bullies like Black?

Moments go by in silence, and I know she's not going to answer me. But she surprises me again.

"Education doesn't guarantee freedom, does it?"

What is she getting at?

"I come from a family that treasures sons far more than it appreciates daughters. Have you heard about Riley Dwyer?"

"Yes. He's a sorry son of a bitch. Losing Daddy's money left and right in any casino he can find, blowing it on any stripper who spares him a glance." I laugh.

"He is my step-brother."

Shit. There goes my foot in my mouth.

"But I agree. He is a sorry sight while losing my money." She pauses and looks at me with those honest brown eyes. Somehow, I know her tale is going to be far dirtier than the sewers in which her step-brother finds himself. What have these people put her through?

She doesn't say much after that. It feels as if she's told me all she could for today. I offer her my spare bedroom, and she retreats into the sanctuary the four walls provide. I find myself awake in the last hours of the night. All I want to do is knock on her door and beg for a place near her. She does this to me, makes me eager and exuberant about the most ordinary things.

I drift to sleep with a smile on my face, assured that Bella is in the room next to mine.

* * *

The morning finds me distraught and worried.

She is gone.

Bella's gone.

For a moment, I feel as if the world has crashed around me, but then the fury takes over. How dare she? How dare she put herself in harm's way?

I know she's gone back to Black.

Doesn't she understand that man would kill everything she is without even trying?

I don't understand why I'm behaving like this. She is my obsession, but I have never given anyone or anything a second glance after the initial rejection. I should forget her, shouldn't I?

But I can't.

Her face haunts my mind as I speed toward Black's penthouse. That bastard will beg for death if I find a mark on Bella. Screw the world; screw its rules. I have never followed them, never cared for them, and I am not going to start today, when Bella is at risk.

Enough with propriety and what people are going to think. I am going to take her, and I don't care if the world topples down in the process.

* * *

I don't find Bella at Jacob's penthouse.

The sick motherfucker is gleeful when he opens the door for me.

"You won't find her here."

He wants a repeat performance of yesterday, I think. Maybe my murderous intentions leak onto my face, and he scampers back. Good.

"He took her back. Riley. He took her to their lakeside villa."

I don't even have to utter a word to get answers from this wimp. Dad would be proud to know that his son has perfected the art of information extraction.

* * *

The Swans' lakeside villa is a prime piece of property.

It's all clean lines and symmetric arches, soothing colors and privacy guaranteed. An unparalleled view, and doors that open to the beauty of Lake Washington don't hurt either.

The security of this place is bullshit. The guard doesn't even ask more than twice for my name before opening the gates to my Lamborghini Aventador.

Charlie Swan was a shrewd man, who built his fortune on his grit and ability to call a bluff. My father has nothing but respect for the man's business acumen, not so much for the man himself. After being shrewd for almost five decades of his life, Charlie fell hook, line, and sinker for Renee Grant, or the busty brunette, as she was called in the most exclusive strip joint in Vegas.

Bella was the result of that union. Charlie said farewell to the world after Bella's second birthday, and soon after that, Renee got on with a washed up C-grade actor, Phil Dwyer. After she married him, she adopted his son, Riley, and since then, he's been slowly sucking the life out of Swan Corporation.

Poor Bella.

I knock at the door only to find it open.

The voices are faint, and yet I can hear the sound of a sharp smack on flesh. It doesn't take Sherlock to guess that the person being subjected to it is none other than my Bella.

My anger is a noise in my ear and fire in my eyes when I enter the living room to find Bella cowering from Phil Dwyer as Riley restrains her hands behind her back. The sight of her bruised, broken skin cuts me in half. I spy legal documents on the table and a stone-faced attorney standing in the far corner of the room with a woman who might have been beautiful once, but now she's just a washed up shadow of the past.

"How dare you humiliate Jacob in such a fashion? After everything we've done for you, after everything Jacob has done for you, you should be grateful, you whore," Riley hisses in her ear.

She turns sideways, and her eyes meet mine. There is desperation in them along with embarrassment. I want to tell her she need not hide herself from me. I want to hold her and make her feel safe. I want to give her the world if only she will have me along with it.

Renee's nasal voice breaks the silence in the room. "There is still time, Isabella. Sign the papers, and there will be no need for unpleasantness. You can go back to your husband, and Riley can manage Swan Corporation effectively."

"She is not signing her inheritance away for dearest Riley to squander on Vegas strippers and casinos," I state as I move toward the man who has his dirty hands on my Bella.

The surprise and fear in their eyes might have been comical once, but now, when Bella is in the midst of this thing, it doesn't feel funny at all.

Riley literally drops her on the floor as he steps back near his equally spineless father in the hope that it will save him from my wrath. How wrong he is.

"What is the meaning of this?" Old Phil tries to be intimidating.

I punch the daylights out of him. Next in line is dearest Riley. He gets a couple more since he had the gall to manhandle Bella. I know they have done far worse to Bella than what I'm doing to them right now, but if I pause to think about what more these despicable people have done to her, I might end up killing each and every one of them.

I pick her up after I'm done with the father-son duo. She closes her eyes and turns her head toward my body as if by simply closing her eyes, she can forget everything. It's a strange sensation when her arms go around my neck in a sign of trust, when she relaxes her body in my arms as if I can keep her safe.

I pick up the papers of her inheritance from the table before exiting this house that could never be her home while these people reside beneath its roof and hide behind its walls.

"You are fired," I inform the stony-faced lawyer who's standing with Mrs. Phil Dwyer.

And I carry my Bella out of that hell.

* * *

Days pass in monotony.

She stays in my penthouse, and she seldom leaves her room. I wake up every morning, and then I coax her out of her shell for breakfast. I try to make her smile, and yet all she bestows on me is a pale rendition of what her smile should be. My social life has become non-existent, and that is my choice entirely. I find myself much more at home with a silent Bella than a talking calendar girl.

A month passes like this. She wears whatever I put in her closet, eats whatever I put on her plate, and sleeps in my guest room. That damn room has become what you would call her safe house of sorts.

I don't understand what I need to do to make her talk with me, smile with me, laugh with me.

Love me.

But maybe desiring her love is a bit selfish. Or entirely selfish? I don't know. It seems like I don't know anything anymore.

* * *

One night, a soft whimper breaks my sleep. For a moment, in my disorientation, I assume the voice is coming from my TV, but then I remember Bella, and I am falling out of bed in my hurry to reach her room.

I open the door and step into the room to find her curled beneath her sheets.

"I am so sorry, Jacob." Her arms are around her middle, and she ducks her head, eyes closed tightly as if she's bracing herself for a blow that will never come again.

"Bella?" I call her name softly, shaking her lightly to wake her from the nightmare she's starring in.

My gentle insistence yields result when she opens her eyes to find me leaning over her.

I am terrified that she's going to scream. The look in her eyes indicates she's going to scream.

But she doesn't.

"Are you okay?"

She manages to nod.

Now that she's awake and not remembering whatever that dickhead did to her, I should go back to my room.

"Edward?" She is hesitant. "Will you stay for tonight?"

It has been my dearest wish. And I would never deny her.

* * *

When morning comes, it brings the smell of bacon and omelets with it. My eyes open to gaze at the unfamiliar ceiling of my spare room. Did last night really happen?

I'm still on my side in Bella's bed, so it must have.

I follow the smell, and the most beautiful sight greets my eyes in my kitchen. I just watch her as she moves, stirring something in a pan, chopping something on a board simultaneously. It feels as if she belongs here, in my home and my heart.

She must have sensed my presence because in the next moment, her eyes are on my face, and a brilliant smile plays on her lips.

"You're just in time for breakfast. What would you like?"

Well, I would like her spread like a feast on the counter of my kitchen, but alas, that is not on the menu.

"Surprise me," I reply.

She puts portions of various things on my plate and slides it to me. This Bella is so different, and I like her far more than I like the scared Bella. I would gladly be her knight in shining armor for life, but a smile on her face is something that is too ethereal to miss.

She looks at me expectantly, as if waiting for the verdict as I spoon a bit of omelet and shove it into my mouth. Heaven. Damn, she can cook.

I never thought of myself as one of those chauvinists who envision women as barefoot and pregnant in their kitchen, but right now, when I look at her, all I want is her. Barefoot, pregnant, married, and in my kitchen. Well, not exactly in that order.

Married? Where did that come from?

I don't find the idea nauseating or choking, which is a first.

This is what love must be, love that people talk about with secret smiles and wishful sighs.

I have never experienced it before, so I can't be entirely certain.

* * *

After that night, Bella has embraced life in an entirely new way. She has taken the reins of Swan Corporation after booting her step-father and step-brother, and she is making headway, turning tides and earning back longtime clients. She has managed to enchant my father, and dare I say that there is no man who's a more vociferous defender of her than Carlisle Cullen. He has taken Bella under his wing, teaching her all the tricks of the trade. I find her in Cullen Mansion most days after her office hours.

She still lives in my apartment.

I won't say that our cohabitation has been purely platonic. There have been moments of charged intensities and heated sexual tensions.

After mutual silence over the issue, we have come to a very definite conclusion that she feels safe in my apartment, and I feel lucky to have her here, not that she knows.

I have stepped up as a human being in her presence. Gone are the days of party boy, manwhore Edward Cullen. These days, even the most proficient paparazzi hounds can't sniff out my whereabouts.

I have started going to the office regularly instead of being just a figurehead vice president.

I have stood with Bella through all the trials and tribulations. I was there when she stormed into an ongoing meeting at Swan Corp. to dismiss her step-father, Phil Dwyer. No one who witnessed her that day would have guessed that she'd been a bag of nerves a day prior.

I was the one shielding Bella from media when she decided to take Jacob to court for divorce, citing abuse as one of the chief reasons. We have come a long way in six months, Bella and me.

And I have only fallen deeper in love with her at every passing moment.

* * *

When I enter my apartment, the smell of rosemary and garlic hits my starved intestines.

Yeah, I do know what rosemary is. After all, I am her eager assistant in the kitchen.

"Bella, I'm home." It sounds so domestic, and I desperately want this normalcy to continue for the rest of our natural lives.

"Just a second," she calls from her room.

I dump my laptop case on the couch and loosen my tie. Yeah, these days I am the model of respectability.

When she comes into my line of sight, she is a vision to behold. The red swatch of silk clings to her body like a second skin and flares down in straight lines from her waist to her knees. Her face is bare, except for her lips, which are crimson and inviting.

"I thought I would cook a thank-you dinner for everything you've done for me, Edward." She smiles as she takes out the chicken from the oven. I don't like the sound of where this is going.

I take my seat as she serves me. The chicken smells delicious.

We are halfway through dinner when she drops the bombshell.

"The divorce was finalized today."

For a moment, I am gobsmacked before she hits me with a second surprise, this one as bad as the first one was good.

"I'm moving out, Edward." Her eyes are downcast, and she refuses to raise her head and meet my shocked gaze.

"Why?"

What happened? Why is she talking about going all of a sudden?

"Why? Because it's the right thing to do. I should have moved out ages ago." She still can't meet my eyes.

"Bullshit." My voice is raised. I don't care.

"I have taken undue advantage of your generosity. I've hampered your life. You can't put your life on hold because of me," she whispers.

"Who fed you this crap?" My anger is evident in my words.

"Edward—"

"Answer me, Bella," I demand.

Her silence is my answer. Fuck people. Fuck their big mouths. And fuck my father's temporary secretary, Jessica, for being a bitch. I know who plants the seeds of self-doubt with such precision.

"Fuck this," I mutter as I leave my chair to move toward hers.

Her eyes are pools of confusion as I pull her into my arms and put my lips on hers.

Perfection. It feels as if I've died from too much happiness. She tastes of wine and Bella, a unique taste that I have never tasted in all my life. Her lips are hesitant, but they accept mine as I slowly court them with all the love I feel for this woman in my arms. I still feel as if I'm dreaming. Having her finally in my arms after loving her for so long feels as if gods made her for me.

My tongue nudges her lips, and she opens for me. I drink her sweetness from the chalice that is Bella, and I feel as though I'm the luckiest man alive. Tentatively, her tongue slides with mine. This woman could make me come with just a kiss.

"Does this feel like you're hampering my life, Bella?" I whisper as I pull her to me, making her feel my erection. A blush taints her cheeks. "Feel what you do to me by just existing. Does this feel like charity to you, Bella?"

She buries her head in my chest but doesn't reply.

"Let people talk, sweetheart. That's what they do," I murmur.

After a moment, she lifts her head and looks into my eyes. I am a goner. This woman has me wrapped around her pinkie, and she doesn't even know it.

That is the last thought that crosses my mind before I start kissing her again.

* * *

We end up in my bedroom.

And we are ravenous.

Her hunger for me matches my hunger for her.

We are a single being of crashing lips, wandering hands, and entwined limbs.

Somewhere along the way to my bed, we have lost our clothes. She sits at the corner of the bed, head bowed. She is perfect. My Bella.

She tries to hide herself, but I kiss her insecurities away. I kneel in front of her, my eyes never leaving her skin.

Her breasts are magnificent, her nipples hard points of arousal. I close my mouth over one while my hand shapes the other.

"Edward," she moans, her head thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy.

I flick my tongue over her stiff bud. "What do you want, Bella?" I ask as I give the same attention to the other neglected one.

"You," she pants. "Only you."

I push her on my bed and follow. She is a vision, this woman in my bed. Her alabaster skin is glistening with sweat, her eyes are needy, and her mouth is swollen from my kisses.

She is my seduction, my passion.

I move down to start from her feet and work my way up to her mouth. It's gonna be a long night.

I pepper kisses on the arch of her foot while my hand slowly inches toward her inner thighs.

What can I say? I'm a greedy bastard.

"How do you want me, Bella?" I ask while I find hidden mysteries of her calf through my skilled lips.

She's making those needy sounds in her throat, ones that urge me to abandon the foreplay and dive straight for the treasure. "Answer me, Bella," I plead as I kiss the backs of her knees.

My hands have traced my name on her inner thigh for the past several moments. That is only why they have not yet parted the folds of Bella's slick pussy. I am between her legs, slowly inching toward my goal when her needy whimper reaches my ears. "I want you in any way I can get you, Edward."

I raise my head to see her propped on the pillows. Her eyes bore into mine, and I see myself mirrored in those orbs that have shed far more tears than anyone I know. I see love in them.

"That's quite handy because you are going to have me, sweetheart." I smirk as I dip my head, and my lips touch her pussy. I had always wondered in the back of my mind, when I'd been fucking all those women, what she would taste like. Now I have my answer.

She tastes like my eternity, my soul mate, my happily ever after…

* * *

 **Leave some love for me in review section. Love y'all and so does Edward.**


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